Natural
by withered
Summary: Derek goes grocery shopping, and somehow walks out with a kid and a date instead.


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Natural

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Derek doesn't like people.

It's the least surprising thing about him.

Which explains why he's in the grocery store an hour before closing, and debating options for dinner tonight.

He may have avoided the spectacle of the Change taking over unexpectedly, but being a transfer from New York had caused quite a buzz within the community, and any opportunity to avoid the general public when he isn't on the clock, Derek will take, no matter how often the bag boy scowls at him.

It isn't like its Derek's fault – its been two months – if the gossip showed any sign of abating, Derek would get his groceries at a normal hour just like everyone else. As it is, apparently, no one ever _chooses _to move to Beacon Hills.

Derek, personally, can't imagine why.

The town is small enough that people are familiar but big enough that they don't necessarily live in each other's pockets. It won't be long before the gossip _does _die down, and the town will be practically perfect on top of the myriad of positives that had led Derek to choose it.

Not only is the territory unclaimed, and home to only betas (changed and abandoned by a Rogue Alpha years ago), but there's a Preserve that's literally just outside his backdoor.

Plus, the crime rate is so low, his biggest fear lies in whether Jackson Whittemore will be a dick to the wrong person and get his ass kicked, and Derek will have to pretend the guy doesn't deserve it.

(Despite his Big Family Secret, Derek is a shitty liar, and he'd rather keep _that _as deeply under wraps as the werewolf thing.)

The only thing that would really make Beacon Hills perfect is if he'd be able to start a Pack of his own which is…far from his mind, in all honesty, and more a wish his own Alpha-mother currently harbors.

It's easy enough to suppress his own biological stake in the matter when Derek has had no desire for his forcibly obtained Alpha powers in the first place.

Fucking Ennis, he thinks, not for the first time with a sigh – more with annoyance now than with the anguish of when the kill had been fresh: When Derek had run so hot he wanted to tear his skin off in the hope of a reprieve all while he writhed helplessly, his nervous system lit up with invisible shocks and prods, awakening the Alpha gene in his DNA until it was turning every switch on his senses and tuning it up to a hundred.

That hadn't been fun.

At least he'd managed to get a handle on his senses a few weeks after the Change, dulling them to beta level consciousness. Now, he can be around people without choking on the cocktail of curiosity, arousal, and fear he still inspired from the townspeople of Beacon Hills.

(It's only been two months, he tells himself, it'll pass.)

Though, his forcible dulling of his senses does not explain how a kid manages to sneak up on him, claiming him with a squeal of "Ah!"

Derek's so startled he drops the bag of pasta shells he was contemplating on and freezes entirely as the kid – who's probably a toddler at most – momentarily lets go of his pants leg to pick up the dropped pasta shell packet and offer it back to him, looking up at Derek with the biggest brown eyes he's ever seen on someone that wasn't a cartoon character.

The toddler cocks his head to the side, brows furrowing before he repeats, "Ah?"

"Uh…thank you," he says, accepting the pasta reluctantly which the kid doesn't seem to notice when he flashes Derek a bright gummy smile, a gesture Derek finds himself returning without thought to the kid's approving squeal of delight.

This is immediately followed by the kid pulling at Derek's hands, the universal prompting to be carried, and Derek can do nothing more than comply at the child's persistence.

He's always been a pushover.

Derek only has a moment to regret picking the kid up when he outright nuzzles into him, chubby hands petting at his beard, all while rumbling low in a familiar subvocal hum of approval just like –

Shouting shakes Derek from the horror slowly curdling in his belly, just long enough for a guy to come careening around the corner, his scent strangely blank even as his anxiety pitches to panic as he calls out, "Sirius – Christ, kid, where did you – _oh."_

The kid, Sirius, Derek supposes, is willfully ignorant of his father's shock, and Derek is just the unfortunate soul between them.

They sort of stare at each other for a moment, all while Sirius continues to pet and coo at Derek's beard, and it's all very awkward until Derek clears his throat and says, "I'm guessing he's yours?"

"Uh…yeah, yeah he's…uh." Sirius' father blinks a few times, apparently still processing the fact that some stranger is holding his child before he eventually shakes his head, as if that'll dispel the weirdness of it.

Derek's just glad he's still wearing his deputy uniform because for the life of him – he can't imagine a world where _anyone_ would be okay with their kid clamoring up to strange men in grocery stores at eight in the evening – and that's not even speaking as a werewolf.

Nervously, though, the guy licks his lips and Derek has the distracting thought that his mouth is _obscene, _which he's startled out of thinking too deeply about (thank god) when Sirius continues to purr – increasing the volume as if it'll encourage it from Derek's chest too if he tries hard enough.

It turns out that that is a harder impulse to ignore than making a Pack.

"Uh, well, this is…surprising. Sirius doesn't really like people," the guy is saying, cheeks going apple candy red and Derek just wants to _bite into them _and _what the fu_\- before running his hand through the mess of his hair, making it worse, and bringing attention to his goddamn hands that Derek _kind of wants to pull those long, distracting fingers into his mouth and_ – _what the fuck is happening? _Derek thinks as the horror that's curdled sits in a lump in his stomach.

"I'm really sorry, dude," he continues, unaware, rambling off, "I only took my eyes off him for a second, and he usually doesn't run off – at least not too often and he certainly doesn't run off to bother other people – which is frankly the opposite of his usual M.O so like -"

"It's fine," Derek clears his throat, hoping to god it doesn't sound as rough as he thinks, and praying that he isn't sporting a fucking chub in the middle of the grocery store while carrying an actual child in his arms. Fuck. Laura's never going to let this go if she hears about this. "Uh, do you want him back?"

At that, the guy gives a helpless, sheepish sort of smile. "Actually, we just got here after a long drive, and he's been kind of a terror today, so, not really?" Before he shakes his head, cheeks filling red again. "Not that I don't love my kid. Fuck, I love him more than I love curly fries, my entire collection of comic books, and my jeep, and that's saying a lot – But it's kind of hard, you know, being a single dad does not come without struggles, let me tell you. And – Fuck, I just swore in front of my kid. F-uh, I did it again," he realizes in dawning horror, and Derek looks down at Sirius in his arms who doesn't seem particularly concerned with his father's freak out and only nuzzles into Derek's neck and shoulder deeper before catching his eye in a pout. "Ah?"

Again, his father shakes himself. "Dude, I'm so f- uh I'm sorry, it's just, been a day and I did not expect you with all your -" He handwaves to Derek's…_everything_, before saying, "Lemme just grab my little bundle of joy and we'll be on our way."

Unfortunately, while Sirius had been relatively calm, and dare Derek say it? Content? He starts to whine as soon as his father tries to step further than the few steps he'd taken once in his arms and that's just – With furrowed brows, his father takes a step further and Sirius' complaints and wiggling grow more insistent, before his father takes a step back experimentally, and Sirius marginally calms – him and his father both almost pressed up to Derek entirely until the guy takes a step away again.

Derek ignores the answering whine in his own throat, suppressing it under the curiosity of watching Sirius' dad repeat the movement twice before he holds his son in front of him, under his armpits, and declares in something of a whine of his own, "You're killing me here, kid."

Pouting and eyes going glassy with tears, Sirius looks to Derek beseechingly, before uttering, "Ah-pah."

And now the fear has a name because the guy bodily pauses, and then he's turning to face Derek, his expression carefully blank. "Alpha."

"Derek, actually," he says instead, trying to go for casual – like maybe if he plays this off as a toddler just _saying things_ it'll be okay and – and then Sirius' eyes flash gold and Derek can feel his own eyes flash back and – _Oh. Oh._

Strangely enough, the careful way that Sirius' dad has been holding him slackens a little, his expression suddenly relieved, before he's stepping closer again, holding a hand out, "I'm Stiles, Stiles Stilinski."

Derek hesitates for less than second, the name sticking in his brain until he finally accepts the offered hand. "You're the Sheriff's son," and then any further comments in that vein is abruptly abandoned because at the contact of their hands, the reason for Stiles and Sirius' lack of scent is answered in the static that tickles Derek's skin and sudden exhale of winter ozone around them both. "You're a witch," he breathes.

Stiles' answering smile is oddly nervous, like he's afraid of what Derek might think, which would explain the slight sour tinge in his scent, the anxious swipe of his tongue that Derek _definitely wants to feel against his own mouth and Jesus fucking Christ –_

Kicking his legs out, Sirius insists, "Bah-bah-bah!"

At that, Derek shakes his head, clears his throat, and remarks with some amusement, "That explains his name."

With that, Stiles' scent outright _blooms, _but before he can open his mouth, the bag boy interrupts from the end of the aisle, "Hey man, we're closing. Are you guys leaving or what?"

Looking down at the pasta shell packet still in his hand, Derek's brows furrow in momentary confusion. "Uh…"

Fortunately, Stiles takes pity on him and touches his arm to get his attention. "I can get you dinner? I mean, I kinda owe you…what with this guy…"

Then, Sirius pats his arm too, looking up at Derek with the same big doe eyes as his dad, lip curled into a pout as he prompts, "Ah-pah?"

And yeah – Derek doesn't want a Pack – has had no desire for one, but.

But maybe he could.

"Sure," he answers, "let's go."

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**A/n: **So, despite only recently making a collection of only human Sterek AUs on ao3, I ended up writing a werewolf/witch Sterek fic instead. Apparently, my brain houses revolts, and I'm nothing but a confused bard in the crowd.

Also, because I like order amongst my chaos, welcome to the new collection: "House of Mine" for all the werewolf/probably-magic Sterek fics which you can subscribe to on ao3.


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